


Diwedd y gân yw'r geiniog

by Enishi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 15:57:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21148352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enishi/pseuds/Enishi
Summary: In the last throes of Wales's bid for independence, a leader appears who will change everything. Owain Glyndwr is a man who can inspire his nation to rise to face the English threat. As Wales reaches for freedom, disaster strikes, Owain disappears and Dylan is left with the bitterness and anguish, knowing that Arthur somehow has caused this all.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "At the end of the song comes payment"
> 
> Absolutely zero confidence in my writing, had a very close friend look it over for me and check I didn't fudge it all up. This was written mostly for myself and said friend to read, but was encouraged to post it here after it sat gathering dust for a few years.
> 
> Dylan is a Welsh OC that I have had for along time, though he is typically saved for the Hetalia fandom and was created long before any other characters I made.
> 
> Note: Though I have lived in Wales for 20+ years I am not Welsh, I only have a few phrases remembered and only know bits of the history, so please excuse any errors I did do some research when I wrote this out but it's mostly my own take and twist on some of the history.

Clutching the thick leather handle, gloves resisted as the strain upon them was evident. Wild eyes flickered all around, like a predator surrounded by an invisible enemy. His breath came in quick gasps as each time he would cry out his energy levels seemed to waiver, only the unfathomable heat of rage kept him going. 

Underfoot leaf litter was scattered and crushed, the sword swinging wildly to hack off a low lying branch or remove foliage from his advance-- nothing would stop the man. The hills would echo with each savage scream, promising pain a thousand times more terrible than anything they could ever experience should he lock his sight upon their cowardly form. 

Clouds rolled overhead, clashing into one another and rumbling deeply which only seemed to enhance the current situation. As time ticked by emerald, deep with fury, kept their vigil. Every shadow was stared at, only to make out a fleeting hare or tricks of the eye. Again he spun around as if his quarry would appear there and then, only to be once again denied. Shoving aside brush, the corpses of those that tried to hinder his progress lay bleeding. Eyes dead to the world stared forwards as features were twisted with shock and horror. Splattering of blood lashed across the ground.

"ARTHUR!"

Unbeknown to him each step actually took him further away. As the soft patter of falling raindrops began to drown out his footsteps, something moved ahead. Fuelled by rage, he screamed at the figure. Everything was a blur as he advanced forwards, weapon raised to cut them down not caring who it was. Spinning around at the sound, the male cried out and tried to run throwing aside his weapon and crying for mercy in English. It fell on deaf ears. Within seconds the blade was singing through the air, embedding itself deep into the man’s spine. He was dead before the body even fell. 

Panting heavily, the little spray of blood painted demonic like features. Again he cried out into the night, a clash of thunder adding to the din. Across the skies streaks of lightening flashed, lighting up the entire area for brief intervals and giving the pursuer a vivid view of the forest before darkness took it away. It didn't matter he knew this land like the back of his hand, another footstep and his attention was drawn. 

Illuminated by the flash a strip of fabric lay tangled in some brush, advancing towards it and catching the piece before the wind snatched it away. Eyes widened with shock, his heart skipping a beat as within his grasp was the token he'd given to his beloved, the faintest dots of fresh blood still evident. Pressing fingers across the patches and rubbing them away he brought the cloth to lips, breathing in the scent and whispering sweet nothings to it. It was only the night before that he had been speaking to him, their relationship a sin to the world. For he was a nation, and his lover but a human; it was unnatural, unwanted and forbidden. 

And now, he stood on the edges of the Efyrnwy valley looking around the forests that surrounded them. He'd chased his brother all the way from the borders to the tip of Afon Cedig before losing him within the forest. For hours he had given chase slowly and met little resistance. The first to die was the spy that Arthur had sent to watch him. Before he'd brutally ripped out their wind pipe with bare hands, he tortured the male to get information. It was easy enough to loosen their English tongue after cutting off his testicles with a hunting knife. 

Dylan was never this violent, but he had been pushed to the edge. The one he loved was being threatened, Owain’s happiness and freedom was all that was held close to the Welshman’s heart. Now his brother, an ever present thorn in his backside was loose in the wilds of his home and Owain was nowhere to be found. Turning towards the sky, letting rain wash away blood he slowly wiped his arm across and then renewed the hunt.

Straining with effort, mud and twigs slipped underfoot as Arthur scrambled for purchase. The rain had only made it more difficult. Lowly muttering and grunting he tried to get as far away from the area as possible. Letting go the bulk it quickly fell to the floor, legs giving way not long after that as he sat hunched over, panting heavily. 

A cruel almost twisted laugh lifted, glaring down at the body with a mixture of hatred and fear. What had he done? Another laugh roused, leaning into palms whilst trying to gather breath. A small sense of relief flushed him as the voice which screamed his name seemed to get further and further away. The plan, so perfect, even though sloppily done, would soon have everything slipping back into place.

"It's all your fault you know"

Aching he forced himself to stand and gave the still form a little kick. It was too late. The betrayal too quick and clean, yet the last moments of that man still played over and over in his mind. How at peace he looked considering how brutally he delivered the final blow - even if mud and bruises now marked handsome skin which had now gone considerably pale. Hours ago it was flushed with life, as he spoke with that distinct Welsh dialect, mistaking Arthur for his brother. There had been stark change in Owain’s demeanor when he realized that he was not Dylan. The calls of the Welsh representative caused Arthur to force him to run.

"Why did you try and fight?"

Dropping to knees, Arthur’s palms pressed into his face. He'd killed him, but it wasn't his fault! It was Dylan’s! Why did his brother hate him enough to press for independence? All Arthur had wanted was to live him Hugh and Dylan again, to live as he had as a small child. Both had torn from him in disgust and refused to yield when he had tried to force them to join him. All he had to do was capture Owain and barter his freedom for Dylan’s compliance. How he to know this would happen; that it'd be so difficult and would end up with him taking the man’s life? The ground was soft but not too muddy. Without the proper tools he began to frantically scramble at earth, tearing long gashes through the soil. Each time fingers sank in deeper he'd curse Owain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owain / Owen is the English version, I have a hunch that Arthur would use the English version of someone’s name.  
Arthgwyr / Arthur - Means bear man, it's meant to be the welsh derivative of Arthur.  
Diwedd y gân yw'r geiniog. - At the end of the song comes payment.
> 
> Lake Vyrnwy
> 
> Lake Vyrnwy is a reservoir in Powys, Wales, built in the 1880s for Liverpool Corporation Waterworks to supply Liverpool with fresh water. It flooded the head of the Vyrnwy valley and submerged the village of Llanwddyn. (I have been here twice, it is very beautiful but eerie.)


	2. Gwna dda dros ddrwg, uffern ni'th ddwg.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last throes of Wales's bid for independence, a leader appears who will change everything. Owain Glyndwr is a man who can inspire his nation to rise to face the English threat. As Wales reaches for freedom, disaster strikes, Owain disappears and Dylan is left with the bitterness and anguish, knowing that Arthur somehow has caused this all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "At the end of the song comes payment"
> 
> Absolutely zero confidence in my writing, had a very close friend look it over for me and check I didn't fudge it all up. This was written mostly for myself and said friend to read, but was encouraged to post it here after it sat gathering dust for a few years.
> 
> Dylan is a Wales OC that I have had for along time, though he is typically saved for the Hetalia fandom and was created long before any other characters I made.
> 
> Note: Though I have lived in Wales for 20+ years I am not Welsh, I only have a few phrases remembered and only know bits of the history, so please excuse any errors I did do some research when I wrote this out but it's mostly my own take and twist on some of the history.

"Dylan?"

One hand lay upon the old pine tree, the tiny marks just enough that anyone knowing what to look for would locate the carving on the trunk. Weary from trekking all day Owain waited patiently for his lover to appear. Having barely escaped the attack on Harlech he'd fled into the wilds. The locals who were extremely loyal and protective had all helped him away. Occasionally he caught a brief glimpse of the army that lay waste to the area searching for him. Tipping his head down he paused in quiet solace, the frantic efforts of his people to protect him humbling. As he stood by the tree that Dylan and he had over the years met he felt shame. Owain hadn’t even been able to protect his family. What had happened? Where had it all gone wrong? Hopefully when the nation appeared they could be saved. 

Tradition and stability called for him to take a bride. Very few knew of his true relationship with Dylan. Owain couldn't forget the pain in Dylan’s eyes when he'd taken Margaret's hand in marriage. Even if in private he swore himself to his representative they both knew for a stronger more stable Wales they had to bare the pain of hiding their love.

Margaret was a beautiful woman; she had given him many wonderful children. Owain could still see their happy faces whenever he returned from a conquest or meeting. They'd wish to hear stories about the way of the wilds. He made sure that each of them knew about Dylan who was treated like a beloved uncle. Owain’s heart would ache for the man that could never have children of his own; Dylan really was good to them. A single tear slipped forth, remembering with sadness the news of his family being captured and held prisoner.

Since that night he'd been hiding out, narrowly avoiding the English and quietly mulling over the fate of his family and people. Dylan had kept him safe, never letting the man out of his sight for too long. But today he'd taken longer than normal to return. Instead of staying in one place he would move locations, leaving marks upon trees and rock for his lover to find him. 

It came as a shock, however, when he turned to the approaching noise that instead of the face of his beloved, the calm features of his brother appeared. Quicker than he thought was possible; a knife had been pressed to his throat. Owain’s heart pulsed dangerously, he was by no means a weak man but he knew that nations were in an entirely different league. Still he wasn't afraid and instead let out a slow sigh.

"Arthgwyr..."

Turning the blade upwards, Arthur frowned. Why wasn't Owain afraid? Curse this man. Did nothing faze him? Burning his castles and towns didn't seem to have any effect, neither did killing his men. For the faintest of moments he felt a stab of jealously. 

"Owen, come quietly or I’ll have to use force."

The Welshman smiled, he'd never bow the English or do as they wished.

"Nah."

The casual way which he dismissed the words made Arthur's blood boil, letting the knife pierce skin, a trickle of blood coming from the wound. Still the man didn't react.

"Don't make this difficult!"

"You don't scare me English scumbag. Is your arse still sore from the kicking we gave it?"

Arthur snarled and pushed Owain away before his anger got the better of him. What hurt this man, this man who seemed to care about nothing apart from the freedom of his people?

"I lay waste to Harlech castle, your beloved family are my prisoners and soon you will be too."

Owain spat on the ground and stood up straight. Nation or not, this man was the cause of all their problems. How he could do such things to his own brother was beyond him. Fists clenched with annoyance before fixating Arthur with a glare. 

"You can do what you want with me, but the courage and strength of my people will live on! Nothing you say or do will ever remove their identity from this world, so stop trying! Cymru am byth!"

The tone and resolve of the man’s entire form made Arthur jerk back a little. He could see a little of his brother in this man and it truly scared him. But he needed control; to unite their lands - Wales was his and nobody else’s. 

"I'm taking you back whether you like it or not!"

Starting forward, a strip of rope slipped through his fingers, ready to use. Arthur had lost the element of surprise. Nation or not the man he faced wasn't some farmer with a pitch fork; Owain was a warrior as well. By his waist hung a sword that had possibly been used to cut down his countrymen. Still, Owain had to be taken back alive or the plan would be ruined. What he hadn’t wagered was the resistance. Still Arthur was no stranger to sword fights, his own blade drawn before the clash of metal rung aloud.

Unlike him Owain fought with fluid sharp strokes, his a little clumsier due to anger, only restrained by his will to take the man alive. The ground soon became churned by their footprints, blood and broken foliage cut down their attempts. Panting hard Arthur’s arm began to ache and the blade felt heavy. Still the Welshman stood unyielding, even though he looked as tired the fire in the man’s eyes promised a fight to the death. 

"Owain?!"

Arthur had only a few seconds to react, the massive sword flung free from the man’s grasp. Shocked Owain’s reaction was too little too late and Arthur was behind him, chest pressed to his back and hand over his mouth. Again his name was called out, louder and more desperate. Arthur willed his heart to stop hammering so loudly, as if it would draw his brother from the darkness to smash his face in. 

"Shhh...."

Owain struggled against him, his grip was too tight and the movements became more desperate. Too engrossed in listening out for his brother, the faint sounds and desperate low moans from Owain were ignored. Should Dylan find them now, it would all be over. His brother would never let him leave Wales alive now he’d tangled with his lover. 

"Be quiet!"

Arthur hissed; unaware that his hand covered the man’s mouth and nose preventing him from breathing. Paranoid he sharply turned at the sound of twigs snapping, dragging Owain against the copse of a massive pine, glancing either way. Soon the voice was drifting off into the distance, still it cried out almost breaking. Owain was still. Starting to relax more it was only when he was quite sure that Dylan was further away that he removed his hand. Instead of the man trying to escape the body went limp then slipped onto the floor. 

".....Owen?"

The body gave one last jerk then moved no more. Arthur stood watching, waiting for the telltale rise and fall of his chest but it did not come. Teeth squeezed into his gloved hand to muffle the sounds of his terror, half formed sobs silenced against fabric as he slowly crouched down. What had he done? Shakily reaching out he pressed fingertips to the man’s neck, feeling no pulse, nothing. Panic welled up.

"No, no, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Grabbing Owain’s shirt he shuck him over and over, willing him to wake up. Fingers rolled through blonde strands, damp and flecked with dirt and blood. Clutching them he hunched over and wordlessly screamed, raising a fist to strike the floor. Dylan would kill him; there would be no mercy for this mistake and he would never believe it to be anything but cold blooded murder. Arthur had just killed the only man Dylan ever loved. Quickly he got up. There was no choice, he had to remove the evidence, prevent him from finding out. Arthur’s mind was swimming with so many thoughts and images, gathering up his clothes, using the fabric to cover Owain’s face. Grasping beneath his arms he began to drag the corpse deeper into the wilderness, away from his brother.

So sure that he’d heard something Dylan headed towards where the sound had originated. It was there that he found the very spot that he’d agreed to meet with Owain. There was nothing but distorted soil and fallen leaves. In the distance the light caught something beneath one of the bushes. Curiously brushing branches aside he set eyes upon Owain blade, stained with fresh crimson blood. Snatching the precious weapon off the floor he dragged fingers through the blood. Quickly he started to look all around for any signs of activity, keeping the weapon firmly in hand. A faint trail, that the rain was doing its best to wash away, led away from the area. With a low growl he followed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owain / Owen is the English version, I have a hunch that Arthur would use the English version of someone’s name.  
Arthgwyr / Arthur - Means bear man, it's meant to be the welsh derivative of Arthur.  
Gwna dda dros ddrwg, uffern ni'th ddwg. - Repay evil with good, and hell will not claim you.


	3. Segurdod yw clod y cledd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last throes of Wales's bid for independence, a leader appears who will change everything. Owain Glyndwr is a man who can inspire his nation to rise to face the English threat. As Wales reaches for freedom, disaster strikes, Owain disappears and Dylan is left with the bitterness and anguish, knowing that Arthur somehow has caused this all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "At the end of the song comes payment"
> 
> Absolutely zero confidence in my writing, had a very close friend look it over for me and check I didn't fudge it all up. This was written mostly for myself and said friend to read, but was encouraged to post it here after it sat gathering dust for a few years.
> 
> Dylan is a Welsh OC that I have had for along time, though he is typically saved for the Hetalia fandom and was created long before any other characters I made.
> 
> Note: Though I have lived in Wales for 20+ years I am not Welsh, I only have a few phrases remembered and only know bits of the history, so please excuse any errors I did do some research when I wrote this out but it's mostly my own take and twist on some of the history.

Now he was using hands, rocks anything he could grab that would help him dig the hole deeper, faster. The rain kept hindering his progress as though nature knew of his crime and was trying to punish him. Pausing, Arthur wiped sweat from his brow, turning to check the body had not moved. Another clash of thunder hurried him, and soon a deep pit more than waist high had been dug. Crawling out of the hole Arthur lay on his back breathing heavily, the urge to sob almost overwhelming.

The rain eased up a little, the clouds continuing to rumble in displeasure. The bleating of sheep in the distance mixed with the quiet sounds of a sleeping forest. Drops of water slipped off leaves and rivers bursting to the banks swirled by in the distance. It had gone quiet, too quiet. Gathering some strength Arthur crawled over to the body and stared at features that almost seemed to be reposed in sleep. 

"It's all your fault..."

Dragging the corpse the last few feet he dropped Owain unceremoniously into the hole. Eyes glazed with tears, he scooped soil into the pit, inch by inch the face which would haunt him for years to come was covered in the land Owain so loved. Eventually it was done, not even a marker or cross displayed the final resting place of the great hero that had stolen his brother’s heart. Covering the grave with leaf litter and branches he stood, turning to a tree, a very small cross notched in the base all that would mark where the man lay. Without looking back Arthur turned and ran, wanting to get across the border and to the safety of his home before Dylan got wind of what happened.

Skidding down the embankment he was unable to find purchase on the steep slope. Arthur only stopped running to glance back. The stiff breeze that had harassed him all the way had lessened for a few brief moments before resuming its assault. Ears were burning from the cold, his gaze lifting to the crown of the small hill. Arthur’s homeland and people were only a few steps away, freedom was within his grasp.

"ARTHUR!"

The voice was like a shot of cold water through his entire being, freezing him on the spot. Its tone spelt out the depth of Dylan’s anger. Slowly he turned to look behind as the figure of his brother appeared, walking calmly towards him, seemingly impervious to the landscape. Nothing slowed Dylan’s advance, a flash of fear causing him to run towards the high bank and scrambled up it, desperate to escape his irate sibling, no matter what the cost.

"STOP!"

Nothing would make Arthur stop, his lungs fit to burst as he pushed forwards. Bloodied and bruised fingers scrambled to grip the jagged rocks, almost crying in relief as he reached the top and ran full pelt towards his land.

Dylan stared at the retreating form, taking steady breaths. The little shit was too far away to catch now. Ramming the long blade into the ground, his bow was shrugged off one shoulder. Even though Arthur’s movements were somewhat erratic he made no move to speed up. Reaching to pull out an arrow from its quiver he took another glance before slowly pulling back the bow string. Nobody could escape the aim of a Welsh bowman and Dylan was no exception. Releasing the arrow the shaft sailed through the air, letting out a little whistle as it bore down upon its target. Only then he took the sword once more and made his way forwards.

Still running Arthur stumbled a few times, feeling a dull ache in his limbs. In the distance could make out some of his people; a few armed guards alerted by the noises had appeared to investigate. The relief he felt was momentary as something sharp embedded itself into his ankle. Releasing a cry of surprise his next step failed, falling face first into the damp earth. Wincing in pain, the cause was sticking out at a perfectly erect angle, the long stem of an arrow. A string of curses followed as he desperately tried to limp away.

Striding purposefully towards his brother, nothing would stand in Dylan’s way; even the guards previously so curious and eager to help their ward paused in fear. 

"You little fuck!"

Strong hands snatched Arthur from the floor and lifted him off his feet.

"WHERE IS HE?!"

It was no question of whom he spoke but still Arthur’s lips remained firmly sealed, not even bothering to kick out at him in retaliation.

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

Slim fingers that had once brushed away Arthur’s blond strands; held his tiny hand and lifted him from the floor now found his neck and squeezed the life from him. Feeling the tightness in his throat, air attempted to pass through without much success. If this continued Dylan would really end up killing him. With what oxygen he had left he coughed out. 

"He's gone!"

Dylan growled low in his throat and their faces were closer than they’d been centuries. This time it wasn't due to adoration but unfathomable rage. For the first time since he was a boy Arthur was scared of Dylan. 

Teeth clenched, patience now eluding him as his grip only tightened.

"What do you mean he's gone?"

Should he lie? No, it would gain him nothing and it looked like no matter what he said his brother wouldn't believe him. Struggling to breath, Arthur grabbed his wrists stabbing nails into his skin with what strength he had left. 

Shadows danced across Arthur’s vision, feeling light-headed and slipping from consciousness with each gasp.

"Owain's dead!"

Disbelief roused in Dylan’s eyes, but the longer he crushed Arthur's windpipe with no retaliation the more he was forced to believe it true. It wasn't true, it couldn’t be true. Owain had only spoken to him this morning, a moment in time that felt like mere seconds ago. Dylan could still feel the warmth of their embrace, hear the soft tones which reassured and see eyes that spoke of a courage and determination which would never waiver. Gone? 

Arthur remained silent, his brother’s grip faltering enough for him to breathe properly. Neither moved until the truth in Arthur’s gaze made it clear he had not lied.

".......No...”

"No...No, NO!!!!"

The world spun, everything seemed to collapse around him. Lips moved yet nothing came out, his body started to shake violently. The long sword spilled from his grip to clatter uselessly next to him. Again the denial was cried, saturated clouds rumbled in the distance. Dylan reached upwards as if the sky held every answer, ever thought before he curled his hands into fists and slammed down into the ground over and over. 

It was then that Dylan cried, the first and last time that Arthur ever saw his brother do so. 

Having been dropped Arthur moved away to recover and watched his brother break. How swift the change from irate maniac to the broken figure of a man that cried into the earth. Distraught he slammed his fists into the earth until Arthur swore bone could be seen. The whole time Dylan never stopped crying out his lover’s name. The scene wrenched at his stomach and he tentatively half reached out to his brother then pulled his hand back just as swiftly. Arthur gathered himself, as heartless as it was he had to press his advantage, take control of the situation.

"You and your lands belong to me Cymru. You will never find freedom."

The only response he got from them was a muttering of Welsh he didn't understand. 

"Owain..dwi'n dy garu di am byth.."

\----

For days, weeks and even years Dylan continued to search for the resting place of his lover. Only Arthur knew what lay beneath the land which would eventually become Lake Vyrnwy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owain / Owen is the English version, I have a hunch that Arthur would use the English version of someone’s name.  
Cymru - Wales  
Arthgwyr / Arthur - Means bear man, it's meant to be the welsh derivative of Arthur.  
Dwi'n dy garu di am byth. - Welsh for I love you now and forever.  
Segurdod yw clod y cledd. - A sword's honour (literally 'credit') is its idleness.


End file.
